


something in the woods somewhere (to save a life i didn't have)

by lara mckinnon (laraleadstheknights), laraleadstheknights



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Angst, M/M, Prophecy, except for. well except for krav, he's still daddy death, inappropriate flirting with death, narcissus au, sorry capital D Death, sorry this is probably going to be long, theyre all humans in this one, we're being pretty fast and loose with mythology here so give me a break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laraleadstheknights/pseuds/lara%20mckinnon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laraleadstheknights/pseuds/laraleadstheknights
Summary: death is constant and all-powerful. he's also immensely curious as to why a mortal man is so very interested in his reflection.
Relationships: Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	1. death meets a man

**Author's Note:**

> they told me i could do what i wanted and i said . ok. so i did this. 
> 
> title is obvi from hozier's song into the woods somewhere

Death has heard many rumors. He has been around for long enough, he thinks, to warrant the amount of talk he hears. Some of these stories are important; they tell tale of prophesy and heroes and quests and fate and triumph. Some are work-related; so-and-so has died, but their plucky wife refuses to let them cross the veil, and thus he needs to collect both souls as punishment for avoiding him. Some rumors are simply that—rumors.

He hears one in particular, though, that is interesting enough. He listens in to a young group of fae discussing the tragic story of some besotted nymph who wasted away after the rejection of a man too in love with himself to notice.

“Typical mortal men,” one hissed. “Why should Echo care about one of them?”

“That’s the thing!” The other leaned in, widening her onyx eyes. “He is said to be the most beautiful creature to walk the earth. You know Echo was easily swayed by pretty things. And get this,” she added again, looking around, pausing for dramatic emphasis. “When I said he was too in love with himself to notice, I was not being hyperbolic. You see, the man is quite literally in love with himself! He can be found staring at his reflection at all times of the day, admiring his own fine brow or his pouted lips.” The fae coughed a little. “Not that I have seen them. I do not care for the appearances of those whose lifespans are so short.”

Death turned his attention away from the pair still caught up in their gossip. This was technically not his jurisdiction. But he was curious. No harm could come at simply seeing if the rumors were true. Death, as is often speculated, was a being with a penchant for dramatics.

“Reaper man, have you come to take me away?” The man declared without lifting his head, speaking into the water below. Death raised his immaculate (if not self-conjured) eyebrows.

“You speak frankly. Are you expecting me, oh mortal one?”

The man shifted lightly, apparently uneasy with the question. “You come for us all, eventually. I guess. Ch’boy is no exception.”

“Not yet,” Death admitted, tilting his head lightly. “But soon.”

“Hm.” The man shifted again, still staring into the clear water. Silence followed, for a while, before Death spoke up again.

“Would you not look Death upon its face?”

“No.” The man answered immediately, eyes never leaving the surface of the pond. Silence followed, even thicker and more uncomfortable than before. The man spoke again. “It’s not—not, uh, personal.”

Death chuckled. “Why?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Reaper man.” More silence. Death did not mind. Death is patient. Eventually, the man speaks again, his tone the verbal equivalent of a long-suffering sigh.

“I am looking for something.”

“Have you not looked for long enough?”

“I am missing something,” the man said, as if this information was precious, and time sensitive.

“What do you mean?”

“I am looking,” he said, “for something I cannot find. Something I’ve—something that got lost. But I’ve seen it here before. So I’m gonna keep lookin’.”

Death cocked his head. “Some say you are simply conceited.”

The man turned sharply towards Death, meeting his eyes, seemingly unafraid. He breathed out, his tone turned bitter and cold. “Some are wrong.”

Death blinked, surprised, and then pushed on. “Some say you are obsessed with your own loveliness. That you have fallen in love with your reflection.”

The man scoffed and turned back to watch the ever-silent pool of water. “That is ridiculous.”

“That you are lovely?” Death countered, pleased he was finally getting somewhere. 

“Of course I am lovely,” the man snapped. “I am—I’m fuckin’ beautiful to behold. I have been told may times by many people with many motives—” the man’s tone became mocking, a sneer forming in the crystalline pool of water before him, “of how my eyes look as though the sea has given part of herself and her endless beauty to me. That my lips make roses blush, for the thorned flowers cannot bear to be compared to something that mimics their soft petals and warm tones better than even they. My hair has been compared to starlight; my lashes to fishing nets meant to ensnare those who come too close. Of course I am lovely.”

Death stood silent for a while. He did not know quite what to say. “I do not doubt these things,” he said.

The man sighed and cracked his neck, dropping the sneer entirely, and instead looked deeply tired. “To deny them—to doubt them would be a falsehood. It'd be dumb. There's no point in denying what's true. ”

“I see,” Death looked at the man’s profile. His heavily lidded eyes decorated with long, dark lashes. His silver-white hair. Death had the strange urge to touch it. He spoke again, hoping to repair what was left of the conversation. “I do not wish for your beauty to go to waste. Perhaps there is something else worth looking for beyond your own image in this pond.”

“I doubt it.”

“Doubt all you will. But if you continue on like this, I will have to take you.”

The man looks up, suddenly, and met the eyes of Death. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, handsome.”

\----


	2. death gambles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> death gambles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall thank you for you nice comments last time!! the aim for this is to be rather storybook-ish.

Many days later, after walking for a long time along a familiar forest, at last Death came upon a small cottage that belonged to a soul he would soon take. Letting himself in to the front door (Death has no time for moral quandaries about “manners” and “home invasion”), he noticed her home was filled to the brim with mysterious tear-shaped crystals and smelled faintly of scones. She was wrapped in a soft white blanket in a small bedroom in the corner of the house, her ancient face illuminated by the light of the moon. She snored softly, delicate curls of white hair rising and falling with every breath. Death cleared his throat, and she awoke.

“Come to get me at last?” she asked, one eye slowly breaking open.

“Yes.” Death answered.

“It cannot be helped. I have done the best I can.” She opened her other eye and gave Death a soft smile. “I have done what I can.”

“You have lived for quite a while.” She nodded, then quirked her head, and began to uncurl herself from her quilt, eventually straightening into a sitting position.

“Does Death not know my name?”

“Oh—no. I am not given that kind of information.” Souls didn’t normally like to talk this much, but Death is patient. She chuckled.

“I heard Death likes a wager.”

“Your time has come. I will not allow for you to continue upon this plane. It’s time for rest.”  
“Oh, no, you mistake me. I do not ask for extra time, this would be unfair. However, I do have just one bit of unfinished business to attend to. Let’s play for it.” Death’s head—well, his incorporeal physical form—cocked in his hood. He didn’t quite know where his reputation as a gambler had come from, but it—well, it wasn’t _incorrect,_ per say. He sighed, and his skeletal fingers pinched at what was left of the bridge of his nose.

“What exactly are we gambling for?”

The old woman’s eyes brightened, and her soft mouth pushed into a wide grin. “My name, of course. You can have three guesses.”

Death thought about it. He didn’t have anything else to do today. And well, what harm was a small game? “And what is my prize? Should I happen to guess your name?”

The woman looked upward and gestured towards the ceiling. “I’ll give you a prophecy.”

“A prophecy? For what? My future is as my past. I am Death. There is nothing you could tell me that I don’t already know.”

“Except for my name, you mean.”

Death chuckled. “You’ve got me there, it seems. Alright. As a favor to you, because you do not object to coming with me, and because you are amusing, I will enter in your wager.”

The woman raised one hand and beckoned to something over Death’s (incorporeal) shoulder. Immediately, a swirling black crystal dropped from the ceiling and zoomed into the woman’s outstretched palm. She smiled at him, her grin toothy and playful. “I’m waiting. Three guesses, Reaper.”

Death thought back to the most popular names this century. What century was it, again? Damn. Maybe something to celebrate the gods?

“Istus?” He guessed.

“Ah, I am very wise, and I indeed deal with fate! But no. Try again.”

Death looked around. Her little cottage, while small, seemed to be cozy and well-decorated, armchairs and doilies abundant, a slow-burning fire in the corner, and a few baked goods resting near a windowsill. The crystals, which were hung with string, seemed to fall at various heights, swaying in a gentle breeze. Tucked into every corner seemed to be a trinket of some kind, be it pretty golden mugs, or decorative keys, or even small ceramic birds nesting in the high corners of cabinets and rafters. Death hummed and took a leap of faith.

“Dove?”

The woman smiled even wider. “Very close, my dear! Just one more guess, hmm?”

Death, emboldened by her words, spoke again, as certain as the sun. “Your name is Pigeon. I am told I would receive a prophecy?”

The woman bursts out laughing, coughs a bit, and looks Death full in his face. “No, my dear. Pigeon is a very good name, but it is not mine. My name is Paloma.”

“Ah,” Death says, and if Death could be sheepish, he would be. “I suppose I have been bested. Tell me your favor, and if it small, as you have promised, and within my realm of powers, I will do it.”

Paloma then looked at Death for a long while. At last, she spoke.

“You are unlike what I expected. I will give you your prophecy, and you have my name. A two-for-one deal.”

“Remind me, why do I need your name?”

“You did not need it, per say, but I gave it freely. Names are very powerful.”

“I am not a fae. Names mean nothing to me.” Paloma smiles mysteriously.

“You are wrong, of course. But I will forgive. Now, on to my favor, and your prophecy. I require you to pass on a gift. Do not worry,” she held up her hand, seemingly assuring. “It is not far. I simply require a basket of my scones to be delivered to a young man in the forest just south of here. He is the only one there, so you will find him quite easily.” Death raised his eyebrows.

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” Paloma smiled, and crushed the inky crystal in her hand. Immediately her eyes rolled upwards, and her voice became a low growl.

“ _You are not exempt from fate, and you do not control Death. Remember this.”_ The room shook, and Paloma’s eyes closed. Death felt for his scythe, but there was no need. She opened her eyes and let out a quiet breath in her normal voice, and with a final intake of breath, grabbed Death’s hand.

“I am ready to go now.” Death’s eyes trailed to their connected hands, and he, too, smiled.

“Not often is Death demoted to the simple task of errand boy,” He told her, not unkindly. Paloma craned her neck, and suddenly the heavy wrinkles mapping her face seemed to dissipate, and her hair, once frail and white, seemed to fall in pretty brown waves around her feet.

“You are the being of unfinished business, no? This is my unfinished business. It is your job.” And with that, Death takes Paloma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bros i need a beta so bad. hope you enjoyed! sorry no T**ko in this one  
> edit: bros i need a beta. i spelled two words wrong multiple times.

**Author's Note:**

> interested in beta(ing)? please dm me at my tumblr coathangerbangers.tumblr.com 
> 
> please leave a comment if you liked it!!! xoxoxox


End file.
